


Bramble Dreams

by Thimblerig



Series: The Tenner [20]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Prose Poem, thanks for staying with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:42:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23710957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/pseuds/Thimblerig
Summary: Day 10 - Arise
Relationships: Lady Yekaterina (OC) & Aurora (OC)
Series: The Tenner [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1680610
Kudos: 2
Collections: The Tenner





	Bramble Dreams

_ It is the last day, and the guests gather in the front courtyard, breath steaming in the bitter autumn air. A tray of stirrup cups is set on a low stone table, the silver goblets steaming from the heated wine - or something like wine - inside. Lady Yekaterina lounges on the frosty ground, insulated with thick sable fur and leaning her back against one of her great panthers. It purrs, sides vibrating, and bends its head around to rub its mouth against her slender fingers. _

_ ”What a pleasure it has been to have your company these last days,” she says. “I told you a tale of a bramble wood to start, and a woman named Aurora who dreamed its thorny dreams… I shall speak of one of them, if you care to hear it, of the still frozen time when the killing frost blankets the ground and all the things that live and grow sink into sleep.” _

* * *

####  **Bramble Dreams**

* * *

This is the dream of the waiting wood, of the root sunk deep and the sharpened branch:  _ If you cut me, I may bleed. If you break me, I will grow. _

These are the dreams of the little birds, struck down in their thousands as the cold stops their hearts:  _ When we fly together we claim the sky. Soon. It will be soon that we fly. _

This is the dream of the winter wolf, haggard under the fur but her pelt full thick and fine:  _ I can run a thousand miles and not tire; I can sleep on the ice and not die. I feed my children with my milk and my blood and their teeth grow white and sharp in our warm nest under the rocks. _

This is the dream of the unborn flower, held in the darkness and the silence and the cold:  _ I will rise. _

* * *

_ Yekaterina shrugs. “Aurora always turns a pretty tale.” _

_ She claps her hands together, hands white as frost. “It’s been marvellous having you here. Do come again soon.” Her brow furrows prettily. “But not at New Moon. I’ve other guests at New Moon and I… suspect you wouldn’t mix well…” _

_ She stands suddenly, and her deep dark mantle stirs like bird wings. _

_ “Take care, now." _

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed some of the wolf's imagery from _Prince Caspian,_ by C S Lewis.


End file.
